


(in my mind) I am in your arms

by knightlysoulsnatcher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Ex Lovers to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obikin Big Bang 2018, Offscreen Death of Minor Characters, Pining, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlysoulsnatcher/pseuds/knightlysoulsnatcher
Summary: Immediately following the death of his brothers, Obi-Wan is forced to return to his home community and form an emotionally invasive Bond with his new personal guard--Anakin, his ex-lover.





	(in my mind) I am in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> work title taken from The National's Heavenfaced
> 
> beta'd by the amazing picavenger14 and emotionally supported by the ever-lovely hunk, my Ba (who also read through it and helped out)

Light shimmered too brightly in the water before Obi-Wan, startling him from slumber in slow discomfort. Immediately awake, his head throbbed as he screwed his eyes shut and willed his servants not to notice him.

 

Once they knew he was awake, his day started. Their absence gave him precious minutes of silence, moments unavailable to him as of two and a half weeks ago, when his sun and moon hours alike were his to fill and control, out in the open ocean. Their presence would soon be gone, however, as he had no need for servants, not now that he was home properly. Soon, it would just be him and his three guards. Possibly—a personal guard, a mer whose life was devoted to the mer they protected. Regardless, he would never exist alone again.

 

He stared at the blue-green light filtering through the water, the large gaps in the dark grey wall charmed to block unwanted intrusions while allowing an unobstructed view to the outside. A useless gesture, as Obi-Wan needed no security previously, nor did he know such dangers the royal magicians trained against.

 

The view was hardly uniquely charming, merely a glimpse of the plain but intricate city below and the few fish permitted close contact with residential waters.

 

_Another goldfish,_ Obi-Wan observed as one of his guards flitted along the charmed exterior. His guards, silent and sure, omnipresent; patches of seaweed, alive and magnificent but stagnant. Not brainless, no, but blank-faced. Forced laziness granted uneasy grace to the movement of their tail, the too-careful positioning of their hands resting behind their back.

 

His eyes drifted shut again. Against his will, sleep crept along the scales of his fingers, arms, stretching up his shoulders and weaving carefully around his head. Twitching his fingers subtly, hands tucked behind his back, Obi-Wan diverted his waning focus, hoping against hope to retain the uncontrollable sleep-peace without losing awareness. Though his slumber was infrequently interrupted with unfocused dreams, his aversion to potential nightmares had disturbed his recent sleeping patterns, driving him into short periods of insufficient but blissfully blank darkness.

 

The presence of newly crafted mourning bands, darker than the color of his mother’s ash-brown hair, disrupted his concentration. There would be a brief memorial today, though the bodies of his two brothers were reduced to indecent scraps. A death of great dishonor, to be mutilated beyond beauty or previous wholeness, desecrating to members of a family with a history of great honor.

 

Obi-Wan’s older brothers had exempted him from a life of direct community importance and leadership; in exchange for the loss of their lives, he lost his freedom, expected to carry out the lives they lost. Their occupations within the community once granted him the ability to explore the ocean; now, their deaths banned him from open waters.

 

The bands were an unwelcome reminder. One which would be constant until his hair fell past his shoulders again, shorn within the same waters as the discovery of their death. His locks of hair, drifting restlessly, disconnected.

 

He felt his servants begin to stir just outside his walls. Arranging himself in an elegant sleeping position, he waited for their intrusion.

 

~~~

 

Obi-Wan ached from swimming in a slow circle around the statues of his two older brothers, their facial expressions intricately stoic, capturing the distant, quiet peace and joy they exuded often in life; the mourning ceremony, however, forbade stillness during the proceedings. His mind wandered from guessing which statue of his they’d circle closer around to a time when he dove down to the deep, toxic undersea lake he’d found while exploring.

 

He had watched from a safe distance as an eel glided along the black surface of the lake. It got too close, twitching horrifically as it tried to flee the toxic water. Eventually, it escaped, pulling itself away, safely ashore. After watching it thrash, Obi-Wan felt an awkward relief in the eel’s quieter movements, weakened and slower as it moved aimlessly along safe sand, even as it continued to twitch once in a while.

 

“We will all mourn the absence of their flesh,” the head mourner spoke, the circling finally slowing to a halt. Obi-Wan barely surfaced from his thoughts in time. “And remember them as one with the water, and the fish, and the sand.”

 

Everyone repeated the benediction with little space between the mourner’s last word and theirs. Obi-Wan felt his lips disconnect with his tongue and teeth, moving as though he spoke without sound; simultaneously, hearing his voice mix with his clan-mates’. This was one of few ceremonies which allowed and required outside participation, and he was equally thankful for the distant companionship and the graceful silence that accompanied their departure.

 

Obi-Wan made to swim for the exit, mimicking the quick movements of his fellow mourning merpeople, when the head mourner, alongside one of his parents, halted his movements.

 

“We have news for you, my child,” his parent said, their voice soft against the hum-hush of the gathering quickly leaving, the area nearly empty, gazes fixed on the murky sand beneath them.

 

Obedient without thought, Obi-Wan halted, spun around slowly. His eyes snagged on the statues, and his hands twitched. Bowing his head in a slow nod, Obi-Wan lowered his gaze to the mourning bands on their arms, showing due respect. 

 

The head mourner looked between the two mers, then excused herself, gathering grey-tan sand and beginning to smear it over the statues.

 

“With the passing of your brothers, we cannot have you absent on your travels,” his parent continued. “You will follow the path of one brother through continuing recording sacred ceremonies, and the other through the safekeeping of the sacred texts.”

 

Nodding absently, Obi-Wan waited until he was sure the conversation ended, then swam away. Just as he turned, they interrupted again.

 

“Before you leave, your guards have increased from three to five.”

 

Whether it was because they were afraid to lose another son or the last member of a family tasked with knowledge-gathering-and-protecting, neither could say. Their gaze held no strong emotion save grief. Obi-Wan hadn’t glimpsed himself today, only knew that there was something telling in the ache of his shoulders and head, the furrow of his brow. At any rate, it was best not to assume a singular fear in their words.

 

What mattered was this: Obi-Wan’s freedom was gone. _Who will take care of my old tasks_?

 

What he said was: “When do my duties start?”

 

There was something like soft pride in the upward tilt of his parent’s lips. “The day after tomorrow. Rest and meditate. It can wait until you’re healed. Your increased guard detail will begin accompanying you when you begin assuming your brothers’ duties; however, your new personal guard is already waiting for you. You are expected to attend the bonding ceremony tomorrow.”

 

Obi-Wan didn’t school his expression well enough, didn’t hide the twinge of irritation in the rise of his eyebrows or the way his fingers twitched at his sides. The bonding ceremony would ensure that a link between him and his personal guard be formed, a link which granted communication and insight between their thoughts and emotions. It encouraged trust and intimacy between the two, assuring the guarded that the guarder would protect against any and every possible threat.

 

He almost didn’t care who his lack of decorum offended as he clasped his hands behind his back and swam away from the statues, sick at the thought of violating his emotional privacy for the sake of a guard bond.

 

As he exited, halfheartedly admiring the pillars, which stretched high, covered in smooth pearls, he felt the water shift, another mer swimming toward him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder, glimpsed the gleam of the mer’s scales catching blue-green light, less mixed with the dank grey murk surrounding the mourning site, fading the farther away they swam. Obi-Wan chose a route back to his personal chambers that lingered on the outskirts, attempting to avoid encountering other mers. A perfectly logical choice, albeit lacking in practicality, though the presence of this mer suggested that, regardless of his route, Obi-Wan wouldn’t escape company. In the very least, judging by the smoothness of his swimming, Obi-Wan could assume this mer wasn’t a physical threat.  

 

This was probably his new personal guard, in addition to the nameless goldfish already protecting him and his kin. Guard mers usually carried little intricately forged weaponry on them, their retractable spikes rendering crafted instruments primarily useful for ceremony or grand battles. Obi-Wan preferred clever spells to physical combat; he sent silent prayers to the Essence that his additional protection wouldn’t burden him with the presence of fancy knives or spears. Bad enough he’d be fully vulnerable to his new guard; if he had to suffer humiliating, constant vulnerability, he hoped it was with someone capable and practical.

 

The glimpse of his guard’s scales, unburdened with no discernable weaponry, was not properly enlightening, only demonstrating the uniqueness of this mer; it wasn’t common to have one’s scales so obvious, so easy to see, yet left without the soft, aesthetic glow most mers desired. Neither natural sunlight nor artificial light from the city’s enchanted streets reflected on their grey-green scales, caressed them and complimented them. It was, Obi-Wan supposed, a good trait for the guard to possess, one which was fairly rare; though they could hardly be barred from their duty based on the colors of their scales, it certainly helped when guard mers were less obtrusive and flashy.

 

Obi-Wan could now slow down and accompany his new guard more closely, perhaps identify them, or he could continue forward. Propriety allowed for either; personal comfort recoiled at both.

 

_Better face things now_ , he thought, steeling and slowing himself. He turned to gaze properly at his guard, throat thick.

 

The mer in question seemed to slow for a moment, the graceful movements of his sleek tail enrapturing Obi-Wan. There weren’t many that possessed an ease he could appreciate in such a way, appreciate with a twist in his heart. Some sort of hollow fondness, and his throat constricted in sudden horror, remembering the last (and only, if Obi-Wan was honest) mer with such enrapturing grace.

 

The guard was close enough that Obi-Wan could pinpoint familiarity in the curves of his arms and the loose, short curls. His sharp jawline, piercing eyes, one rose-gold, the other blue, and, oh, Obi-Wan cursed his brothers for abandoning him so cruelly.

 

Anakin Skywalker was his personal guard.

 

Obi-Wan caught the distaste surging through his mouth before it curled his lips or tainted his eyes. Shifting his expression as carefully as possible, he hoped he conveyed no recognition, merely curiosity or resigned politeness, relishing his privacy while he could.

 

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said once Anakin stopped, not quite behind or beside him, not fully succeeding at hiding his immediate grimace. It was hardly the time to greet him with ill-fitting familiarity, yet it slipped out with embarrassing ease.

 

Anakin tilted his head in a silent greeting, staring steadily at him for a moment, then glancing away. It was so unlike the brash mer Obi-Wan once loved that he didn’t know what to do with the gesture; there was never room to make amends between them since Obi-Wan forcefully ended their relationship, and it was painfully clear that nothing could remedy that, now.

 

Obi-Wan couldn’t decide whether he ought to be relieved or embarrassed by Anakin’s composure; he hadn’t acknowledged his flamboyantly playful greeting.

 

When Anakin continued drifting in silence, Obi-Wan began forward, clasping his hands together behind his back. “I didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

 

Anakin cleared his throat. His actions were distant grace, his expression stoic, but his eyes held old emotions, the pale scars of wounded pride and anger. “My apologies. I was returning from my previous post.”

 

“You didn’t have to meet me here.” _You could have given me space, let me at least return to my chambers before I lost all privacy._

Anakin snorted but didn’t dignify him with a verbal response.

 

They both knew Obi-Wan required the additional guards, and that he had grown more precious to the community through tragedy. Should anything happen to him, it would most likely occur at the start of the additional protection, when proper protocol only just began, before Obi-Wan was completely surrounded. Anakin was only doing his job, but it was off-putting, seeing him here like this. Even worse, seeing him ignore Obi-Wan’s bitter words.

 

He didn’t realize how much he missed Anakin until now, but he bit it back, continued swimming forward. He must continue, must ignore any sentimental recollections and leftover regret.

 

They reached the fairly impressive structure that housed the families responsible for priests, intellectuals, and artists fairly quickly. His chambers were the highest on his family’s pillar, the seven total pillars of families spanning several lengths, each large and impressive, easily taking a few minutes just to swim past. Several chambers were empty in each, depending on the number of mers within each current family, and their pillar was all the more empty for their loss. Despite the emptiness of death, the waters were filled with a calm peace, the energy a result of the guards’ magic, equally important for physical and emotional protection.

 

His chamber’s ceiling was beautiful sea-glass, intricate and magnificent, chosen simply because he’d enjoyed the aesthetic vulnerability more than his relatives. Now, it was a reminder of his status, indirectly confirming his importance. He could afford such decadence now because of the additional guards. If Obi-Wan was a lesser mer, he might’ve inflated with pride; if he was a better mer, he would’ve simply been grateful.

 

As it was, he felt his own perceived inability to protect himself suffocating. Rituals, while beautiful, would never simply be beautiful again; intelligence would never be entirely a matter of personal indulgence. His time was no longer entirely his own, and he must suffer the heartache of a former lover holding his life in his hands, living even within his innermost chambers, knowing his innermost emotions; while the other guards might remain on the outskirts and outside the pillar, Anakin would surely sleep near him, eat meals with him, accompany him to ceremonies and observe his every movement.

 

“This hasn’t changed much,” Anakin commented as he followed Obi-Wan inside his private sanctum, staring at the ceiling. Anakin, following the murder of his mother, the only member of his family left alive, had bounced from family to family, observing their personal rituals and occupations, testing each for himself. How much each portion of showmanship and familial pride had been tainted by Anakin’s grief and loss, Obi-Wan couldn’t say, but he knew Anakin’s admiration of him was marred by an adoration of exploring and adventure and dependent upon their frequent isolation, where the open ocean forced them to be reliant on one another for companionship and support. When he started instructing Anakin, it coincided with the beginning of Obi-Wan’s self-exploration, as all mer experienced, their family’s guidance varying depending on individual needs, and his was blessedly rid of exaggerated guides and masters. It was easy for Anakin to admire him when his companionship had numerous benefits, when his love was sweetened by the freedom of the open seas and little opportunity for annoying chaperones. It was Obi-Wan’s chance to show Anakin how his family was gifted with knowledge and magic, curiosity and courage. It was his chance to instruct both himself and Anakin, and, instead, they’d fallen in and out of love so fast Obi-Wan never fully recovered.

 

That Anakin remarked on his chambers and not on the fact that they rarely visited them in the past—much less rarely paying attention to something so trivial as décor—amused Obi-Wan. “Yes,” he replied, swimming to his innermost chambers, the middle of the room’s grand circle, an enclosed space where the floor was the smoothest and the ceiling was a large, beautiful shell. Perfect for meditation and self-centering, and where no mer save Obi-Wan could enter; the walls were smooth stone, charmed with protection and peace by his own magic. “If you’ll excuse me,” he continued with no small amount of measured irony, “I’ll resume my mourning. Thank you for your company. Do as you wish.”

 

At his dismissal, Anakin merely nodded, lowering himself on one of the many benches circling the outermost walls, which alternated between charmed water and thick strips of chiseled stone lined with pearls and intricate carvings of magical runes and ancient legends.

 

He thought he was free, but as he made to leave, Anakin cleared his throat.

 

“Remember the ceremony tomorrow. We cannot be late.” Anakin’s voice, softer than it was, held his full attention, even as his stomach writhed.

 

Magic gathered within the palms of Obi-Wan’s hands. His teeth ached; his scales thrummed. He murmured a calming spell, releasing the energy into the water as a cleansing chant. _Anakin has never seen me in such disarray,_ he thought, embarrassed by his inability to control his emotions. “I will be ready for you. Until then, I will rest. Privately.”

 

Obi-Wan enclosed himself in the center, absorbed in darkness, and banished all thoughts of Anakin from his mind.

 

~~~

 

He was ready long before sunlight spilled into the sea. He lay awake on his cot, mourning thick in the swish of his tail and the strength of his fingers. The mourning bands remained snugly on his arms. Staring at nothing, he couldn’t tell whether he gazed into the ocean itself or at his walls, or the floor. Couldn’t tell, either, whether he was mourning his brothers or himself.

 

Anakin, inside his heart. Anakin, feeling everything he felt.

 

Obi-Wan, feeling everything Anakin felt.

 

It was too much, nearly laughable.

 

They could contest the pairing. He wasn’t privy to the decision process behind assigning a personal guard to their charge, but he knew they could contest the pairing. He could argue against it alone, if Anakin wouldn’t.

 

He heard Anakin slip as quietly as possible into his resting chambers, and something inside him ached. Despite himself, he’d missed this closeness, wondered where he was or how he was doing. Thought of Anakin when Obi-Wan visited places they had together, this time alone.

 

He missed Anakin, and he allowed himself this night to wallow in the emotion, to let himself experience it to the fullest. _It will pass,_ he reminded himself. _It is mine, it is mine, it will be no one else’s. I am my own,_ he chanted. His lips moved soundlessly against the ocean, passing the words from the silence of his tongue to the wide, expansive sea. _It is mine; it is mine._ The mourning bands were warm against his scales.

 

Magic stirred, then settled, in blissful peace with his will. He was unified in his emotion, even as it was an experience limited to himself. He knew he would survive these events, that they would shape him into something new, something even more powerful and strong.

 

He wouldn’t contest the pairing if Anakin didn’t. He loathed the thought of Anakin in his mind, yet the thought of rejecting Anakin a second time was unbearable.

 

When the sun touched the sea at long last, Obi-Wan rose, noticing that, though Anakin lay beside Obi-Wan in the night, he hadn’t slept either.

 

“We need to talk about this. Before the ceremony,” Obi-Wan said, interrupting the silence.

 

Anakin sighed but faced him. “I didn’t ask for this.”

 

“Neither did I.”

 

“I don’t mind. Guarding you. I’m a good guard, and I would be a good one for you, too.”

 

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to sigh. Anakin would be with him for the rest of their lives, while his other guards could rotate between mers every few years, if they so desired. If they didn’t contest this now, they would exist side-by-side, unless one died—though many personal guards and their charges died together, when they did. “I have no doubt of that, Anakin.”

 

Anakin smiled. Obi-Wan swallowed, and the smile faded. “I’ll keep my distance.”

 

Obi-Wan looked away. “I’ll accept you as my guard, but—”

 

“I promise to only use our bond when absolutely necessary.”

 

“I promise the same,” Obi-Wan said, heart heavy. “I’m sorry I’m not an ideal mer for this.”

 

“I’ve never found true fault with you, Obi-Wan. All I ask is that you be honest with me.”

 

Their gazes met. “When I can be, I will.”

 

~~~

 

A priest held one hand over Obi-Wan’s forehead, the other over Anakin’s. The priest’s tentacles were touching various parts of their bodies, demonstrating a thorough connection; his magic would call upon the Essence for the divine bond.

 

There were few mer communities which revered mers with tentacles rather than tails, though Obi-Wan found that binding magic was strongest in those mers. He’d heard of distant depths where bonds weren’t relegated to situations like this, where bonds could be established between lovers, friends. It wasn’t unregulated, but it was less restrictive.

 

Of course, the bonds which fascinated Obi-Wan would tie him closer to stagnant obligations. He’d planned on visiting one far-flung community after a brief respite at home, before he lost his brothers.

 

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan. His gaze never left him, not since they were positioned across from each other.

 

Obi-Wan’s throat constricted. His chest, tight, heartbeat quick. _I can’t do this; I can’t do this; I can’t do this._

Anakin’s mismatched eyes were so bright, so steadfast. There were no distinguishable emotions present, nothing but focus. If it was comforting, neither of them would’ve known.

The priest began humming; Obi-Wan could feel it under his scales, the sensation taking immediate notice. His heart was background drum-beats, his chest infinitesimal. Nothing mattered except the rough hand threading through his hair, palm on his forehead, the tentacles wrapped around his tail, suction cups on his arms, back.

 

His vision vanished. Nothing but darkness, save the humming. It was all he had and all he knew, and, for a time, there was nothing to distinguish himself from it. Obi-Wan did not exist.

 

Then—a heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Twin pulses, beating side-by-side. Fast and flutter-y, aching, whatever it was ached. _Breathe,_ something said, and they tried, but something wasn’t right, something wasn’t listening— _breathe_ , another voice said _please,_ and, oh, that was familiar, that voice was tangible. There was movement, sharp, repetitive, then a flood of relief, two waves crashing into each other. They could do this; they could do this. _It’s gonna be okay._

 

_I’ve got you. I’ve got you._

_Breathe._

The relief was continuous, sweet. Wherever they were, it was warm and soft, the lack of light comforting.

 

Then—a sharp tug.

 

They were not ‘they’; suddenly, it was Obi-Wan, alone, and Anakin, alone, facing each other. Still, the darkness remained. He knew their physical separation in the same way he knew they both needed to breathe; it was instinctual, comforting.

 

_Open your eyes,_ a third voice said, not unfamiliar, but nothing like Anakin’s voice. Obi-Wan wondered, faintly, whether it was worth heeding.

 

_Open your eyes!_

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin. He knew him at once, from before, from the darkness. The recognition within him bounced back and forth, a second twin-recognition. It didn’t quite fit inside his chest, but there was nowhere else Obi-Wan could imagine it belonged.

 

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin, then he saw—this was the guard he was assigned, the guard whose scales he’d once felt underneath his fingertips, lips.

 

_You remember? You_ —

The sudden thud of blurred silence was instinctual on Obi-Wan’s part, cutting off Anakin’s voice inside his head with ease. A deep gratitude swelled within him; bless the Essence for allowing him some sliver of privacy.

 

_You are my guard,_ Obi-Wan thought at him as the priest declared the ritual finished, his hands slipping from their foreheads, tentacles carefully pulling away. _Remember your place._

 

He didn’t want to know what Anakin thought he knew, thought he sensed, from him as he swam out of the temple.

 

~~~

 

Life settled into something Obi-Wan found tolerable once again as the days faded into weeks, weeks into months. The absence in his family’s dwelling, the shift from travelling long distances, exploring and discovering and pretending to be completely free of responsibilities even as the necessity of documenting new ecosystems for his community spurred him forward, to performing his brothers’ duties, migrating from ritual to ritual, memorizing and casting annual spells over the sacred texts, became something not unfamiliar, no longer merely unpleasant.

 

It reminded him of his brief childhood, before his desires to explore found meaning to their community. When he was merely content and doing nothing he loved or hated.

 

When he wasn’t bonded to his former lover.

 

Even though there was a separation, a respect on Anakin’s part to keep to themselves as much as possible, Obi-Wan still felt lingering impressions of his emotions. He was sure Anakin experienced the same, though they both did their best to ignore them.

 

Sorrow clung to the beginnings of his new duties. Since he was not the only mer leaving their community to meet with other clusters of mer or gather items inaccessible to them in their current area, his exploratory recordings were simply performed whenever the travelling mers felt it necessary. His was not a vital task, something fairly indulgent if he were completely honest, therefore it was the least important loss; their community did not lack in resources, and they had many explorers before Obi-Wan, mers who made far more grand and helpful discoveries.

 

He could respect that. He _did_ respect it, but his feelings didn’t change the wandering stares before and after meals, when he ventured to the trading sites, examined carvings on the sacred boulders scattered around the edges of their territory. It didn’t change the way other mers avoided saying his name, like he’d given it up, no longer merely himself. Three-in-one, now. However polite he remained, the guards and his tasks reminded everyone that he was the living embodiment of a greater loss. The honor he gained didn’t sweeten the additional distance, the loss of himself as singular.  

 

He hardly knew how to carry the remnants of his brothers with him everywhere; Obi-Wan felt he had little choice but to process his grief in silence. Anakin, always present, always hovering just behind or beside him, was an unexpected but constant, painful, reminder that there was a part of himself left, something separate and distinct from his brothers, and he was hardly someone to talk to. There was little communication between Obi-Wan and Anakin, little opportunity for Obi-Wan to confide in him, express his grief, even if he wanted to. And Anakin was the most he had, the closest person to him at the moment; if he couldn’t speak openly with him, then there was no reason to speak purposelessly at all. It seemed irrelevant, and he limited his speech to instances where it was absolutely necessary.

 

Sometimes, Obi-Wan had to remind himself of his loss, remind himself why everything shifted, why he felt more alone than ever before, why he was tormented with the sight of Anakin constantly. Obi-Wan felt as though his innermost being was the only portion of himself left unharmed, unaltered. There were no ever-present guards there, no expectations, just a quiet, lingering light, the echo of his name.

 

Even Anakin didn’t let Obi-Wan hear him say his name. Obi-Wan wondered how he could possibly avoid using it in conversation with the other guards, but he never caught Anakin saying it. Couldn’t tell, with the unkempt bond between them, if the mix of pain and anger on Anakin’s part had any clear relation to him.

 

It was exhausting, existing without even a shred of his former self left. No privacy anywhere; he knew that even the smallest flickers of sensations were experienced by two, now.

 

The space between them ached. They both knew the bond could not go unharmed like this, with both of them doing everything in their power to avoid direct engagement. It was breaking something vital to themselves, now, yet Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to reach out.

 

He couldn’t lose the scant bubbles of privacy he had left.

 

Time passed, despite everything. Obi-Wan began waking up again, fully, growing past the constant burdens, always feeling the mourning bands on his arms. He learned how to spend the portions of his days away from other mers and duties in acceptance of his emotions. Processing his grief, resentment, anger, always in silence. Occasionally, he thought he sensed an approving, relieved warmth from Anakin. The smallest nudge of comfort here and there. It was imaginary, groundless, he believed, but he clung to the fragments of contact fiercely.

 

He found himself growing into an unexpected peace; he coped, and he grew. He could appreciate that his brothers’ duties allowed Obi-Wan to act on his own. Observing rituals and interacting with the priests and head mourner usually allowed him to maintain professional boundaries, which required little extravagant emotional labor. Guarding and warding the sacred texts needed only the immediate company of Anakin, once Obi-Wan learned the necessary procedures. Visiting the sacred boulders was a choice he made on his own, one which technically involved serious rituals but had been approved by the council of priests, once his work with the sacred texts earned high praise.

 

His hair grew, his mourning bands slipped off in his sleep, resting against his cot, only to vanish, melting into the ocean once more.

 

Slowly, Obi-Wan felt himself heal in this newfound solitude. The ache remained, steadily trickling into silence and peace. Something like contentment settled beside the lingering grief, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to continue existing without his brothers, to be more than the reminder of their absence. Even if he rarely heard his name anymore, he could hold it for himself, keep it in his hands, under his tongue. Obi-Wan was alive and well, even if it only truly mattered to himself.

 

~~~

 

Obi-Wan slipped into a cumbersome but exciting balance with his newfound contentment when he began acknowledging his other guards.

 

Small things, small movements. Never anything grand. New growth began in small stages, and Obi-Wan grew skilled at directing patience towards himself. It would be rude to force them to perform more emotional labor than they already did; obligating them to mindless chatter and awkward smiles was unnecessary at best and presumptuous at worst. Still, Obi-Wan opened his chambers to them more frequently, took pains to speak to them—barely suppressing his embarrassment at the obvious signs of neglect, the stiffness in the sound of his voice and word choice—even though at this point, they’d grown skilled at interpreting him through body movement alone. The peace their magic produced seemed hazy with professional affection, resulting in the water within his chambers being the perfect temperature at all times.

 

It was easier to interact with them directly than Anakin. Easier to look them in the eyes, having never descended into darkness gazing at them, only to surface still staring and slam the door on any hope of connection or reconciliation he had.

 

The first night he told his guards he needed to leave for a while, allow himself to linger beside his favorite sacred boulders and meditate in the open ocean, he almost didn’t vocalize anything. It was the affection in the small smiles some of the guards wore after he spoke, the startled pride that seemed to emanate from Anakin’s particularly favored guard, that spurred him on. It was an indulgence he hadn’t considered deeply previously; however, following the first night, it became fairly common for him to slip out during the night and meditate on the outskirts of their community.

 

Tonight was one such night, where Obi-Wan carefully rested against one of the boulders, letting himself fade into the silence. Anakin sat beside him, the other two guards accompanying them less discernible. He could find them if he wanted, but it was distraction enough, having Anakin near.

 

For all that Anakin understood Obi-Wan’s restlessness and the ever-present need to center himself, he never fully appreciated proper meditation; not in their previous relationship, and not now, though Anakin never spoke against him, nor did he feel any distaste or aggravation from his guard on the subject. His guard’s presence was a bigger distraction tonight than usual; Obi-Wan found himself waiting silently for something, for the terse discomfort in Anakin’s shoulders to dissipate.

 

“I’m glad you do this,” Anakin said. “It’s good to see you take care of yourself.”

 

Obi-Wan blinked then closed his eyes, tilting his head down. He acclimated to the spaces Anakin occupied as best as he could, the way his eyes followed him obligatory, the knowledge that the guard was always aware of him never entirely comforting, but.

 

He never acclimated to the sound of Anakin’s voice, precisely because Anakin rarely directly spoke to him. Always to the guards, or his parents in passing, or those who wished to discuss something with Obi-Wan. He only gave him wisps of emotion, the leftovers from other conversations, other triggers.

 

He didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. He could feel Anakin beside him, the warmth of his body, and knowing what it felt like to reach for him, brush his fingers against the scales on his arms or stomach, hurt him so suddenly and deeply that he grimaced. The last thing he needed was memories of Anakin and him doing things wildly unrelated to meditating while trying to meditate.

 

What he really wanted was to ask if Anakin remembered the nights they spent out in the open ocean during their treks, lying side-by-side against the sand, curled together simply because they wanted to be close. If it made being Obi-Wan’s guard even more difficult, now that he craved moments where he could be in the dark of the open ocean simply because he wanted to be.

 

_I’m done for the evening_ , Obi-Wan wanted to say, had opened his mouth to speak, even, but none of it came out. He looked at Anakin instead, then away, rising and pausing beside the boulder, stretching his arms.

 

_As you wish,_ Anakin replied, his voice startlingly intimate in the confines of Obi-Wan’s mind.

  
Realizing, belatedly, that he’d wanted to say the words enough to think them at Anakin, he felt smothered by embarrassment. Then, panic. Had he been so careless that Anakin knew his previous thoughts, felt his feelings for what they were?

 

He turned around and came face-to-face with Anakin’s gleaming eyes. Having acclimated to the sea’s darkness, it wasn’t difficult to see, but the sensation of Anakin’s full and blatant attention made Obi-Wan freeze.

 

They stared at each other as Obi-Wan clasped his shaking hands together behind his back. Anakin refused to move, though Obi-Wan couldn’t understand why. The longer he had Anakin’s direct attention, the faster Obi-Wan’s heart raced; the warmth writhing beneath his skin at the thought of Anakin seeing him as himself ached. He longed to be understood, if only by Anakin. If only just this night.

 

“You need to take care of yourself.” Anakin’s chest was too close to his. Even like this, within easy touching distance, his attention was too much, yet Obi-Wan found himself surreally affronted with warring sensations, the panic that he couldn’t handle Anakin’s focus with the steady and obvious evidence that he was, in fact, still living and relatively unharmed.

 

Obi-Wan gave him a blank look. “You’re one to talk,” he replied, swimming past him.

 

Anakin chuckled, and Obi-Wan was thankful they weren’t eye-to-eye anymore. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

 

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan continued forward. _It’s not your place to worry about me like that,_ he wanted to say, but he was afraid of the answer, and the reminder of why things couldn’t ever be like that again was too difficult to swallow. He buried the thought deep down, hidden from Anakin.

 

When they returned to his chambers, his guards kept out of the section meant for sleep, save Anakin. Obi-Wan knew that his job required uncomfortable closeness; it was a mixed blessing that Anakin was one of the few people he could immediately trust enough to sleep in the same area, both from past and present intimacy and earned respect. Of course, they didn’t share surfaces; Obi-Wan curled on his own, always facing away from Anakin.

 

It was normally not difficult for Obi-Wan to fall asleep without thinking about the history between him and his personal guard. Tonight was, despite their change in dialogue, no different. He drifted into slumber with only vague awareness that Anakin drifted into the same peaceful lull right behind him.

 

It was the waking up which disturbed him more than anything, the familiar lack of dreams inviting him into an uncharacteristic vulnerability. Once which apparently resulted in him waking up facing a sleeping Anakin.

 

They both slept on the floor. Some mers had elaborate sleeping areas, filled with plush seaweed, charmed to be warm, colorful, and soft, but Obi-Wan was more comfortable sleeping on a smaller pad, similar to the small cot he occasionally took with him when he left for shorter excursions. He had little trouble sleeping in various environments, but his acclimation to less luxurious settings made him disinclined to fill his chambers with functionless luxury.

 

Now, he might have regretted it a little, if only because he now slept alongside Anakin. Granted, there was plenty of space between them, but his eyes opened and immediately caught sight of Anakin curled towards him, one arm slightly outstretched in his direction. His face looked no less different, the same guarded silence surrounded him, kept a placid peacefulness etched into his features. The only difference was his closed eyes, and the ability that gave Obi-Wan to watch him without being watched in return.

 

Anakin looked beautiful, the curve of his body soft and sure. He was there; he was there; he was there. Here was something some part of Obi-Wan had silently yearned for, and it was more distant than he could’ve imagined.

 

His chest ached, a dull, loathsome warmth pulsing through him. Yearning consumed him, the singular desire for contact and affection smothering any coherency he possessed. Surely, it was safe, now, with Anakin resting and unaware, to let himself feel this.

 

Obi-Wan turned away from Anakin when he grew tired again and tried to sleep. Nothing good would come of this pointless infatuation with the past, especially when the mer in question was now his personal guard. Anakin hadn’t been in the wrong; Anakin hadn’t been the one to end things. He was in a more awkward position than Obi-Wan, forced to protect someone that’d broken his heart. Forced to bond with someone that had been in love with him one minute and the next—supposedly—apathetic.

 

It would be incredibly rude to make Anakin feel awkward because Obi-Wan couldn’t actually follow through with his own words, couldn’t honor the end of their relationship he initiated.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

 

~~~

 

Obi-Wan watched a priest bless a sick mer, wrapped in seaweed, shivering as the priest muttered the same chant repeatedly, their hands covered in a purple glow as they hovered over the mer’s abdomen. He had practiced casting the spell enough times that his hands tingled as though he was blessing the healer’s medicine, invoking the Essence’s good graces, too.

 

Anakin was at his side, hands behind his back, mirroring Obi-Wan. His gaze flitted from mer to mer with a steady slowness, deceptively calm. Obi-Wan was close enough that he knew Anakin’s body was tense, and they had attended to enough healings to know that they were Anakin’s least favorite rituals to watch. Faintly, he could feel Anakin’s tense boredom, and, underneath, traces of guilt.

 

Obi-Wan wanted to know why. It was a new detail about Anakin that had no easy explanation, no obvious logic. Anakin evolved into a mer that held enough differences to make him a stranger, yet his gaze, the softness in his movements and the surety in his hands, remained familiar.

 

When the priest dismissed them, Obi-Wan allowed himself to glance at Anakin for a little longer than necessary before swimming away, feeling more than seeing Anakin follow him.

 

Anakin sighed, the same restless boredom leaking from him into Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan clenched his hands, biting back a nervous sigh of his own. The exhaustion from maintaining distance in their bond, while ever-present, was almost too much to bear. “Everything alright?”

 

The silence that followed felt more startled than offended, but Obi-Wan didn’t relax. Finally, Anakin cleared his throat. “Uh, yes.”

 

Obi-Wan frowned at the ocean before them. The bond offered nothing on Anakin’s current state, so he schooled himself into a similar blankness. They swam toward the Temple of Records, where Obi-Wan would make note of the previous ritual, carving the names and occasion on the designated pillar. The ocean seemed less happy today, somewhat murky, the stone paths bright, more helpful than the sunlight; the waters were colder than Obi-Wan preferred, but his pride prohibited him from seeking warmth or complaining.

 

“You can speak more frankly, if you’d like,” Obi-Wan finally offered as they swam through the temple’s large, open entrance. “They were never my favorites, and I won’t take offence.”

 

Anakin scoffed. “You always enjoyed healing more than I.”

 

_I didn’t enjoy it for the right reasons,_ he thought privately. “There were many things I enjoyed more than you,” Obi-Wan tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Only after the words left his mouth did he realize their implications, and he halted beside a pillar dense with instructions on removing negative energies from patches of coral, staring emptily at the words as his heart raced and his hands trembled. His shame slammed into Anakin’s anger-offense, the barriers between their bond weakened inexplicably.

 

Obi-Wan tried again, but Anakin spoke before he could open his mouth. “We are ‘wildly different,’ if I’m remembering your words correctly.”

 

“I didn’t use the word ‘wildly.’”

 

Their emotions swirled together in his head until he nearly forgot which were his. His head throbbed.

 

When Anakin didn’t respond, Obi-Wan turned around, staring directly into Anakin’s eyes. Biting back the bitterness rising in his mouth, Obi-Wan forced himself to continue looking at his guarded expression, knowing he felt his own determination swell within shared anger. “It wasn’t ever my intention to insult you.”

 

Anakin smiled mirthlessly. “Then what was your intention?”

 

“Now or then?”

 

“Either.”

 

Obi-Wan swallowed. Against his will, he hissed, his teeth sharpened by the surge of emotions overwhelming him, the instinctual desire to wound awkwardly large in his clawed hands. “I thought my intentions were clear, then. Now, I only mean that we are… different mers. As we always have been. At any rate, this is hardly the place to discuss this.” Obi-Wan turned away, letting his hands hang uselessly at his sides as he swam further into the temple.

 

Only when Obi-Wan began recording the ritual did Anakin reply. “There’s never a right time or place for that discussion.”

 

“My chambers are vastly more appropriate than a _temple_ , Anakin.”

 

“Then why have you not spoken to me in your chambers, Obi-Wan,” Anakin sneered, “it’s not like you haven’t had the opportunity.”

 

Obi-Wan knew he ought to focus on Anakin’s actual response, but the sound of his name after so long, from Anakin’s lips no less, nearly made him lose focus. His body seemed frozen and alight in nerves simultaneously. Hastily, he finished his writings and sped out of the temple.

 

There was awkward silence; he was relieved, and he was vulnerable.

 

_Obi-Wan?_

His voice broke through shields he hadn’t realized were weakened until it was too late. A rush of flustered joy at the intimacy of his name flowed from him into the bond; his stomach twisted as he filled with anguished agony.

 

Anakin felt his emotions clearly.

 

Obi-Wan felt, whether through gratitude on Anakin’s part or a mutual weakness, the dizzying pride that stumbled on the edges of Anakin’s shock.

 

_Obi-Wan._

 

His chest ached, constricted by joy and discomfort, the distinct sensation of being seen. _Stop._  

 

_Should we talk like this about your_ intentions _?_ Anakin pressed. _You haven’t felt this open since the beginning of our bond. Perhaps this is the best way for us to talk truthfully._

_I have not lied to you; you have crossed the line._

He felt Anakin halt and found himself doing the same. He looked over his shoulder, saw in Anakin’s eyes the regret that pulsed through the bond. _It’s not my fault you’ve reduced small talk to bickering. Is every subject off-limits, now?_

Obi-Wan scoffed, hoping makeshift irritation was all Anakin could feel. _You want to use the bond for small-talk?_

_You’ve barely spoken unless absolutely necessary to anyone._

_Why won’t you let me grieve in peace?_

_Why won’t you let me help?_

Obi-Wan didn’t answer but didn’t quite resurrect the same barriers in their bond, only enough to protect Anakin from immediate, superficial emotions. He looked away from Anakin and swam away.

 

It broke decorum to rush within sacred spaces, and it was horribly vulnerable, a clear sign to Anakin that he was emotionally compromised, but Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to care. After all these months in silence, losing his grasp on himself within the community, Anakin took the time to remember his name, remember who he was throughout all of this.

 

Once he reached the temple’s entrance again, he slowed, realizing with no small amount of sorrow that he could not simply flee, both because his duties for the day were not finished, and because there was no true escape from Anakin. He allowed himself a moment to compose himself. He knew full well the sound of his name from Anakin’s lips would haunt him for the day, but that didn’t mean Anakin had to know.

 

“Come along, Anakin,” he said, as though he hadn’t swum through the temple like a simpleton. “Now’s not the time for arguing.”

 

When Anakin wordlessly reached his side, Obi-Wan continued forward. They had two more rituals, the first meant for cleansing the sacred texts, then he must perform his daily spellcasting on the boulders surrounding their community. The ocean continued to be unusually murky, though there was little Obi-Wan could truly do about it. It was hardly dark enough to require magical illumination, and using magic superfluously irked him.

 

He knew the lack of clear sunlight bothered Anakin; it was in times like these that he swam closer, his shoulders tense, gaze lingering. Selfishly, his guard’s protectiveness pleased him, even if the professionalism of it stung. Reality provided enough to stimulate his imagination and remind him that it was just that:  imaginary.

 

The few mers they encountered while within the center of their community kept their gazes forward, as was polite, neither directly acknowledging nor ignoring either of them. Obi-Wan’s travels left him more aware of their default mannerisms and the distinctive discomfort an outsider might experience at the lack of contact, or intimacy, in public socialization. Once, he encountered a group of mers in colder waters who swam carefully and in clusters, always somewhat aware of the dangers of isolated clumps of ice sinking from the surface. They were neither friendly nor unfriendly, though their openness towards travelling company, giving and receiving mers new and old, rarely swimming alone, perplexed and, occasionally, agitated Obi-Wan. They were particularly touchy, and, though he was fond of physical contact, it was awkward allowing strangers an intimacy normally regulated, by his community, to close kin.

 

Of course, Anakin’s presence was much different than that. Had he accompanied Obi-Wan through colder waters, they might’ve even treated him differently; as it was, being by himself, they were more readily protective and friendly in a bumbling but kindly awkward way.

 

Glancing over his shoulder, Obi-Wan met Anakin’s gaze, saw the discomfort in his features. He was reminded that Anakin hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t reached out and offered his constant comfort for his sake, even if his obligation to serving his community inspired his current occupation, not unlike the ice mers’ immediate companionship.

 

Still, they kept silent, bond muted but not nearly as restrained, as Obi-Wan reached the smaller clusters of stone huts in the very center of their buildings. Anakin pressed close; at times, it felt as though he was alternating between hovering too near and too far away, but he didn’t dare comment on it, much less dwell on it. He thought he sensed warmth through the bond but didn’t dare reach out and analyze it.

 

They entered the hut containing texts on the Essence’s merciful magical and healing properties. Though there were countless clusters of texts and records on the Essence and practices these mers held sacred, only a few surfaced from underneath the ground at a time. How much say the head priest had in which ones became accessible was uncertain; many believed it depended on the priest, but it was taboo to discuss the different head priests. It was proper to act as though they all flowed together into one continuing being, merely shifting forms through time. The texts themselves surfaced beyond their control entirely; only the will of the Essence influenced which arose, and they only knew there were countless because no repeating texts ever surfaced. What was discovered was recorded appropriately and repeatedly cleansed.  

 

For Obi-Wan, handling the cleansing rituals helped him connect with his brothers. He regretted, somewhat, being far from home often in the past; his brothers’ occupations required denser training, and he knew they struggled at times. As the youngest brother of three, Obi-Wan’s magic held the highest power; it was the will of the Essence alone that allowed Obi-Wan freedom from occupation, every mer’s autonomy a sacred gift. His embodiment of his brothers, though ultimately necessitated by his community, was considered a choice even still; he could always leave them entirely if he wished, unsatisfied.

 

Of course, Obi-Wan couldn’t part with them entirely.

 

What good was a sense of self with no one to recognize it? Better to be of use and no longer named than possess a name with no one but himself to speak it.

 

He allowed himself to be carried through the impersonal chants, thankful for their simplicity. Cleansing rituals left a bittersweet grit in Obi-Wan’s mouth as his voice grew softer, fading respectfully into silence. They lingered as the last of the ritual’s energy settled on the texts and in Obi-Wan’s throat.

 

Anakin was staring at him when Obi-Wan turned and left the hut for the boulders, his final task.

 

Unfortunately, Anakin hadn’t outgrown his remarkable ability to infuse his silences with particularly loud emotions, the unsettling energy oozing from him, clouding the water like blood. All he could do was be grateful Anakin wasn’t sacrilegious enough to interrupt his concentration earlier, around the texts. He sensed Anakin’s restraint, holding back his emotions during the rituals, and he was thankful.

 

Obi-Wan heard Anakin clear his throat as they stopped by one of the first boulders, the sound a familiar warning that he was about to speak bluntly. Obi-Wan turned towards him, dread heavy along his tail, dragging down his scales.

 

“There’s never time for arguing,” Anakin said, his arms crossed over his chest. There were faint bumps rising along the scales of his arms and chest, the tips of his spikes.

 

Obi-Wan realized with a dull, cold ache that their earlier words mattered deeply to Anakin; he wouldn’t have interrupted the silence before this ritual otherwise. He made the effort to fully face his guard and looked him in the eyes, persistently ignoring his rising anxiety. He chose his words carefully. “I didn’t know you wanted time for arguments. I didn’t want to cause any additional discomfort.”

 

“That’s presumptuous of you. Choosing what I do and don’t want.”

 

Obi-Wan frowned. “Would you rather I started screaming at you the second you became my guard?”

 

Anakin didn’t answer, merely stared at Obi-Wan. Bewildered, perhaps, or unwilling to tell a full lie—or a full truth.

 

Obi-Wan frowned, inexplicably impatient. Aggravated at the stubborn silence, at Anakin’s equal demand for Obi-Wan’s vulnerability and unwillingness to fully speak his mind. “Well? Should I have screamed at you then, after the loss of my brothers? Should I have dealt with your presence before grieving? Tell me, since you clearly know best, how should I have handled the distinct discomfort of having _you_ be my personal guard immediately following the loss of my family?”

 

Anakin’s voice was uncomfortably thick when he did speak, his spikes slightly longer than before. Obi-Wan’s eyes stung. His chest ached with doubled anger and sorrow. “I lost everything before I met you. Don’t hide behind old grief, not with me; don’t act as though you’re the only one suffering. Don’t pick and choose when you get to have the moral high ground,” Anakin replied, voice uncomfortably warm, the heat of angry sorrow as he swam closer to Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan turned away and ran a hand along the boulder’s smooth-rough surface, trying and failing, somewhat, to ground himself, find a steady calm in the midst of his heartbreak and anger. “Don’t act like I’m picking and choosing what you want when you aren’t even a thought in my head.” At the uncomfortable silence between them, Obi-Wan winced at his own reply but continued, the taste of his words bittersweet against the roughness of his tongue and the sharpness of his teeth. Anakin’s anguish burned underneath Obi-Wan’s scales. He spoke softly and slowly this time. “I did not know how to think of you then, much less now; how could I focus on something like that, self-indulgent and inconsequential in comparison to our loss? Need I remind you that you were assigned to me; neither of us chose this.”

 

Something about Anakin’s silence grew awkward, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. He turned around. He wasn’t entirely sure how guard assignments worked; it was an assumption that Anakin was given his assignment without his input or opinion. Obi-Wan didn’t dare wonder, much less hope… but Anakin’s eyes were focused on the dark sand beneath them, his spikes still protruding, and their bond was suspiciously empty.

 

“Right,” Anakin finally answered, voice strained, worn thin and faintly shrill. “You’re right.”

 

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. Anakin never admitted something like that. Still, there was a reluctance and pain between them, and enough words had been spoken on both their parts. Obi-Wan was too tired, too unwilling, to ask. He didn’t know if he could deal with the answer here, especially when he doubted it would be favorable.

 

Obi-Wan distracted himself by beginning the protection and revitalization ritual, touching the boulders one at a time and murmuring words of powerful peace and comfort, weaving the Essence into and around them. As he swam between incantations, his scales glowed, as did the boulders and the sand around them. It comforted him, and he allowed himself to be swept away by the familiar warmth.

 

He always felt protected himself as he wove these spells. The energy and magic that flowed through him lingered still underneath his fingertips, a gentle, gracious excess. When he became keepers of his brothers, rituals and texts, Obi-Wan saved his energy for the required spells, no longer using his magic as frivolously as he once did (though it could hardly be said that Obi-Wan ever used it excessively or without some true purpose).

 

This was his simple indulgence, infusing a little more strength into his daily rituals for the excess that spilled through him. A gift from the Essence, strength for strength.

 

Obi-Wan was nearly three-fourths of the way through when he was ripped out of the rituals by a low hiss and the sudden press of Anakin against him, warm and solid. Faintly, Obi-Wan sensed the other guards alerting Anakin of the threat, their voices rising in a pitch Obi-Wan couldn’t hear clearly. He detected Anakin’s anger, but as soon as he felt it, Anakin closed himself off.

 

His skin still glowed as his voice abruptly fell into a broken silence, Anakin’s spine-less back pressed against him, a faint glow growing over Anakin’s scales, brightest in the spaces where their scales pressed together. It was a result of his touching Obi-Wan during his magic; however, he should’ve known not to touch him or risk the magic spreading and possibly injuring him.

 

It was obvious to Obi-Wan, now that it occurred, that his magic wouldn’t harm Anakin on accident, both because of old acclimation to his presence and his current mixed emotions leaning too far into the affection he’d tried so hard to suppress.

 

These thoughts and realizations paled in comparison when he realized that Anakin’s spikes were fully protruding everywhere else that wasn’t in contact with him. He wasn’t quite afraid of the perceived threat as much as he was by the realization that Anakin’s presence was welcomed—more than welcomed. He’d craved this.

 

He’d craved it, and Anakin’s professional instincts dominated his personal aggravation so fully that he immediately protected Obi-Wan despite their argument.

 

Pride surged through Obi-Wan; Anakin grew into a strong, admirable mer, noble and sure. It was just as Obi-Wan always knew he would.

 

The threat was relatively far away, the group of guards that always accompanied Anakin and Obi-Wan respectfully in the distance dealing competently with the threat, as Anakin’s features relaxed slightly, and he was not summoned for assistance.

 

Even as they saw three guards swimming towards them, spikes retracted, no signs of serious injury, Anakin didn’t relax against Obi-Wan. Anakin’s spikes remained as they were, his scales still glowing alongside Obi-Wan’s. His scales were warm where they touched Obi-Wan’s.

 

“I’m alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice roughened by the interrupted ritual. “I’m okay.”

 

Anakin pulled away and turned around, not looking him in the eyes as his gaze flitted over his body, making sure he hadn’t injured him in his haste. Obi-Wan moved his arms away from his torso, giving Anakin better access. Wishing, despite himself, that it wasn’t just his eyes checking him, that he wasn’t shivering, mourning the loss of Anakin’s close proximity.

 

Obi-Wan focused his attention on the three guards nearly beside them, trying to ignore the way he caught Anakin’s hands twitch.

 

Anakin swiftly ordered two of them to remain with Obi-Wan as he went with the third to make sure no one was injured, intentionally restricting Obi-Wan from discovering what happened. He didn’t look back once as he left, nor did he allow the guards to speak even though they’d clearly been prepared to give a full report.

 

Obi-Wan willed his heart to slow as he gave himself a moment, composed himself, and resolutely finished the ritual, achingly aware of Anakin’s absence and the way his magic didn’t glow as brightly.

 

He returned to his chambers silently, desperately ignoring everything but his heartbeat.

 

~~~

 

Obi-Wan rested against his bedding, not hoping that Anakin would enter. Definitely not hoping that; definitely not keeping his senses achingly aware of every movement in his chambers.

 

His guards gave him the space he needed. Only Anakin seemed permitted to draw nearer, and Obi-Wan didn’t mind that, not in this moment.

 

It was almost absurd, this aching solitude. Hadn’t he yearned for this in his innermost thoughts all this time, longed for space to soothe the ache in his heart? He had resented the necessity of Anakin, the practice of personal guards being forced closer still to their charge, forging a sort of superficially natural vulnerability, the intimacy of sharing space and emotions designed precisely to guarantee the mer’s safety and soothe their worries that the guards wouldn’t do their job properly.

 

Obi-Wan felt simultaneously that Anakin’s presence was superfluous, unnecessary and mildly insulting to a mage mer with plenty of experience protecting himself in unfamiliar environments, and that it was absolutely necessary. He retired to his innermost chambers not to meditate but to stifle the whines that slipped, unwanted and uncontrollably, from his mouth, throat. He loathed his instincts, too quick to crave Anakin’s presence. Hadn’t he rebuilt himself better than this?

 

He felt one of the guards staring at him with a gentle but pitying look in xer eyes and bit back a disgusted sneer—meant for himself, not xer. Though he was placed in a position where he was inherently reliant on the guards, he didn’t want to suffer additional indignity.

 

It was past nightfall when he emerged from his innermost chambers; it was barely any time at all after he swam to a portion of the wall and pretended to check his own reflection when Anakin returned.

 

Anakin swam through the entrance and didn’t speak to his guards, just nodded at them as they swam out of the inner sections. It was somewhat normal, now, his guards in the distance while him and Anakin remained together.

 

There was silence that neither of them seemed to know how to confront. Obi-Wan couldn’t stop wondering if there was an issue, if he’d done something absolutely terrible. He’d thought things would be a little awkward after their conversation, but he didn’t think Anakin would treat him like this. He couldn’t make anything out through the bond, and, though distance between them was familiar, he suddenly wished he could help shoulder Anakin’s burden.

 

“Is everything alright?” Obi-Wan finally asked, breaking the silence as he swam away from the window.

 

“Yes,” Anakin said. He was facing Obi-Wan, watching him without his usual intensity. Wisps of anxiety and anger curled between them, Anakin’s emotions mixing softly with his. It wasn’t much, the sudden openness, only enough to make Obi-Wan compulsively smother any affection or suspicious worrying.

 

“Were any guards injured?”

 

If he’d hoped Anakin would divulge what happened to threaten them in the first place, he was mistaken. Anakin simply hummed nonchalantly, gaze flickering away, then back to Obi-Wan’s hands. “No. They’re fine.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, uncertain. He wanted to show Anakin gratitude and empathize with his guards, but the chance to do so seemed nonexistent. Anything he gave Anakin at this point would be distorted by their history.

 

“Tell me what to do,” he said. The words weren’t supposed to leave his thoughts; it felt as though they’d spilled out without permission. He cleared his throat.

 

Now, Anakin stared at him properly. “What?”

 

He felt Anakin probe the bond and hid behind acceptable emotions. He sighed. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

 

Anakin swam closer, crossing his arms over his chest, his scales shimmering still—a dull glow from their earlier contact. While his scales were already back to normal, Obi-Wan was well used to his own magic; that Anakin was already fairly muted was a testament to their previous closeness, long ago.

 

Obi-Wan swallowed. Possessive pride bitterly ached in the tips of his fingers.

 

“You’re not supposed to do anything besides your job,” Anakin replied.

 

_What is my job to you? What are my obligations to you,_ Obi-Wan wanted to ask, but he didn’t know if he could force himself to continue this conversation, definitely not through pointless questions. Anakin’s opinion of his occupation hardly mattered.

 

Obi-Wan felt uncomfortably warm, slightly dizzy, incomprehensibly tired of the awkwardness between them. “Tell me what _you_ want from me. Tell me how to make this less awkward.” He wanted to sink to his sleeping area, hide from his personal guard and never share an intimate conversation again.

 

He wanted Anakin to look at him and acknowledge what happened.

 

Anakin’s expression contorted into something murky, hints of rage making Obi-Wan’s scales itch. “There isn’t anything you can do now.”

 

Impulsively, Obi-Wan swam forward, one arm outstretched towards him. “Anakin…”

 

Anakin twisted his body away slightly, though kept otherwise still.

 

This silence stripped Obi-Wan of his foundation. He didn’t know how to proceed forward, didn’t know fully the meaning behind Anakin’s words. His mouth opened, then closed.

 

“Obi-Wan, get some rest,” Anakin ordered quietly. The anger remained in the edges of his lips, the crisp after-shock of his words, but long gone was the familiar explosive rage, the temper-tantrums triggered by the slightest things.

 

Obi-Wan wanted that anger back. For the first time, he truly opened himself up to the bond. He let Anakin feel his guilt, his aggravation, pain, sorrow. “How can I sleep,” he asked, voice thin, breakable in its threadbare composure, “when you’re right there, constantly, breathing down my neck? You stare, and you sit in silence and protect my life because you have to; let me give you this moment to be honest with me, Anakin.”

 

Anakin blinked, pursed his lips. His body fully faced his, now; his emotions grotesquely controlled. “I have nothing to give you, even if I wanted to,” he replied. “There’s nothing left to say.”

 

Obi-Wan pulled away entirely, swimming to his sleeping area. He could only believe that Anakin was lying to him; even so, it was an indulgent conviction. It was a comfort he couldn’t afford. Anakin had gifted him with indirect honesty, and Obi-Wan was obligated to honor it.

 

He had ended things abruptly with Anakin, long ago. Never fully comfortable, even as much as he loved his companion, Obi-Wan knew his old position as instructor, a teacher of his personal, familial academically nomadic ways, complicated by their frequent solitude, their distance from their community, gave him the potential for unhealthy power in their relationship. He knew, even if Anakin didn’t, that their mutual attachment was very likely influenced by their setting, rather than being true, solid love. Of course, there was much love and affection between them—of that, he was certain—but. How was Anakin supposed to know the difference between affection and healthy love?

 

He would have travelled with Obi-Wan forever, then. Kept himself close, convinced himself he was content with prolonged closeness to one mer for great swaths of time.

 

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember what finally provoked him to end things. He didn’t want to remember, quite frankly. The clarity of his selective memory only sharpened on the moment of homecoming ten years ago, the first brief moments of privacy in his chambers following their arrival, severing all ties with Anakin. It was uncomfortable, travelling home knowing full well he would end things upon their arrival in his chambers, but he managed.

 

Now, he was familiar with the remnants of love for Anakin. It wasn’t surprising that they hadn’t faded on his part, though he’d hoped, just as much as he’d feared, that they’d eventually trickle into nothing.

 

Now, they were not instructor and student. Things shifted to allow a different power balance between them, one which might have allowed for different emotional attachments were they still present; however, Obi-Wan was certain Anakin did not love him. Guards, just as any other occupation within their community, were respected and cherished; those who needed protection called upon them, though it was not uncommon, as they were a large gathering of mers, for any one mature mer to have a personal guard, and any guard could become a personal guard if they so desired. If feelings sprung between the two, it was natural. Often, emotional attachments of any variety strengthened their relations.

 

It was not comforting to think like this, though. Anakin hadn’t been requested by him; neither would he assume that Anakin desired this obligation, even if protection was his chosen occupation.

 

Anakin sank into the bedding beside his, disrupting his thoughts, and Obi-Wan was thankful they weren’t facing each other. His fixations on Anakin hadn’t weakened or stabilized as time passed, and Anakin’s unprecedented behavior only forced Obi-Wan to acknowledge his emotional reality, however grim.

 

He hadn’t predicted his feelings remaining in strength and measure, merely silencing with time as well they should; he also never dreamed they’d be in close proximity again. He thought he could rest in the sureness of the physical distance between them, but he was wrong. Despite himself, he longed for Anakin. Longed for the occasions where they were allowed to be closer than strictly necessary. Longed for moments like earlier, moments with Anakin pressed against him protectively. He wanted Anakin. His body thrummed even now, achingly aware of Anakin’s presence. The intimacy of the past held him captive to his affection and adoration, unable to ignore the remnants of their love.

 

Obi-Wan heard Anakin sigh, and, before he had time to consider a mental response or compose himself, he heard Anakin’s voice interrupt the silence, harsh and barely quiet. “Why do you insist on continuing a conversation you ended?”

 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, thankful again that they were not face-to-face. Against his wishes, his heart raced. “Why do _you_ insist on continuing a conversation _you_ ended?”

 

Anakin scoffed. “Because I realized it would probably be merciful to spare you the discomfort of talking about it.”

 

When the mage didn’t respond, his guard continued. “I don’t understand why you suddenly care so much about what I want now, when you didn’t care then.”

 

“You’re my guard,” he muttered in response, “caring about your comfort is important.”

 

“My comfort matters _now_? When I’m your _guard_?”

 

Obi-Wan winced, curling his body protectively, and Anakin must’ve noticed, because quicker than Obi-Wan could blink, Anakin moved in front of him, forcing them both into vulnerable positions. Lying together on the floor, face-to-face, even as a good distance separated them, as always. He could move away, but what was the point, when Anakin’s determination was blatant. What was the point, when he enjoyed this closeness, however hostile it was, however vulnerable it made him; everything he enjoyed about Anakin held a measure of pain, now, and this was no different.

 

“Seriously, Obi-Wan, at least look at me when we’re talking.” _Please don’t lie to me,_ he whispered across the bond. _Please don’t shut yourself away._

 

Obedient, he lifted his gaze away from the floor, staring at Anakin, knowing full well the guard didn’t deserve his compliance, invading his space without consent. It took everything in him to keep himself open to their bond. “If you cannot see that I have always cared about your comfort, then a conversation like this isn’t going to do either of us any good,” Obi-Wan replied.

 

“For you or for me? Oh wait, would you like me to choose for you? Or should I just choose whichever I think you’ll care about more?”

 

“If you’re going to be peevish with me, you might as well just come right out and tell me why you’re angry, instead of ranting and raving like a directionless whale.” Obi-Wan was proud of himself for keeping his voice steady, even though his heart raced like mad and he felt vaguely nauseous. “If you’ll recall, I have never once acted as though my choices were perfect. I did what I thought was best. Beyond that, I see no point in defending myself when you refuse to address the real issue.”

 

Anakin’s features twisted into a grimace that Obi-Wan remembered all too well. Quite frankly, it was a miracle he hadn’t witnessed this expression sooner, though part of him was both thankful and discomforted by its absence. Given that Anakin apparently had little trouble conjuring his rage, it was obvious that his anger hadn’t dissipated; Obi-Wan, mystified by Anakin’s previously stoic behavior as his guard, didn’t know how to reconcile Anakin’s numerous temperaments.

 

In the very least, it was clear he still didn’t do anything by halves.

 

Still. It was muted. Everything about Anakin was calmer; for all that Obi-Wan loathed their falling out, it was clear that good came of it. Anakin was no longer young and immature, no longer recklessly explosive and selfish.

 

Anakin’s head tilted towards Obi-Wan’s, Anakin’s scales nearly back to their original color. “What do you think the real issue is?”

 

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, conveying his aggravation as he quirked an eyebrow and stared properly into Anakin’s eyes. “You’re the only one that can answer that. The real issue rests with you, not me.”

 

Anakin growled, and if the situation hadn’t been so vulnerable and painful, the way Anakin scooched forward, closer to him, would’ve been amusing. As it was, Obi-Wan squirmed, barely resisting the urge to move. _You got what you wanted,_ a voice in his head taunted, _he’s closer now._ Anakin’s hand moved towards Obi-Wan’s face, and, despite himself, Obi-Wan flinched.

 

Anakin pulled his hand away before it properly touched his cheek, though he made no effort to move farther away. Obi-Wan almost thought he sensed affection between them. “Are you blind? I can’t stand being your guard, and I can’t stand being near you.”

 

Obi-Wan hated that he could tell his emotions reached Anakin by the way Anakin’s anger shifted into something more or less contrite. Something embarrassed seemed to slither along Anakin’s teeth as he bared them in frustration. Obi-Wan didn’t trust himself to speak.

 

“Today was a mistake,” Anakin continued, his voice barely softer than before. “I shouldn’t have touched you. Earlier.”

 

Obi-Wan ignored Anakin’s pitiful attempt to care about proper behavior. “If you don’t want to be my guard anymore, do something about it,” he replied, carefully infusing his voice with distant calm he didn’t feel.

 

Anakin barely shook his head and pushed himself up off the floor. Obi-Wan, not wanting to continue the conversation on uneven ground, followed suit, surprised and chilled by the sudden distance Anakin put between them, even as it coincided with his words.

 

“That’s not what I want,” Anakin replied, voice rising again as he swam closer.

 

Obi-Wan nearly tore out his own hair in frustration. “Make up your mind, Anakin,” he replied. He swam away from Anakin, nearly turning his back on him entirely.

 

Anakin swam closer, close enough that Obi-Wan’s hands twitched, magic rising in him. “I’m not a threat,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at him, seeing regret in Anakin’s gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.” _Please believe me, Obi-Wan._

 

Obi-Wan looked away, willing his magic to fade. “I’m tired. Let me rest, and I will see if there is anything I can do to release you from your obligation to me.” It was completely unheard of, separating the bond, but he was professionally close with several priests, and surely they could at least offer advice.

 

“I don’t want you to send me away again.”

 

The vulnerability in Anakin’s voice left Obi-Wan lost. He sighed. “When you make up your mind, I’ll do what I can to help you leave.”

 

“Obi-Wan, listen to me.” Anakin’s hands were gentle against his arms as he gently turned him around.

 

Obi-Wan let him. He knew avoiding further discussion would only prolong Anakin’s attitude; if he dealt with this now, he could tend to the ache in his chest and the emptiness of his hands after the conversation.

 

“I’m glad I’ve gotten to see you again.” Anakin paused, though it seemed to be connected to the tightening of Obi-Wan’s lips, the way he looked away, preparing himself for Anakin’s goodbye. Anakin removed his hands from Obi-Wan’s arms. “If me leaving again would be what’s best, then that’s okay.”

 

There was an unexpected freedom in the possibility that Anakin would leave him. “I’ve never wanted a different guard,” Obi-Wan admitted.

 

Silence filled the spaces around them. It was a vulnerability he didn’t know what to do with, but he’d forgotten how easy it was to show parts of himself to Anakin. Anakin, reckless and emotional, always stirred something in him, responsive and bright.

 

Still, there was always a limit to Obi-Wan’s openness. He pressed his lips together and looked away from Anakin.

 

“Hey,” Anakin said, one hand rising to cup his cheek, encouraging him to look at Anakin again. “I’m here,” he murmured when Obi-Wan returns his attention to him. “Please don’t send me away again.”

 

Obi-Wan shuddered, pressing his eyes closed. He allowed himself to be touched by Anakin, impulsively ignoring the future consequences.

 

“I’m here,” Anakin repeated. His forehead pressed against Obi-Wan’s. One hand continued to rest against his arm while the other gently held his cheek, thumb rubbing against his scales. Softly, Anakin’s emotions pressed against Obi-Wan, affection and adoration overwhelming, even as Obi-Wan could sense restraint and wariness.

 

“You said—” Obi-Wan’s voice wavered. His throat ached. Anakin’s hands were always so warm, so strong-soft. “It was a mistake to touch me.”

 

Anakin’s nose brushed against his. Warmth spilled through Obi-Wan, thick in his shoulders as it sank like sand through his arms, chest. Their lips were too close; it would be so easy to stop talking. “I…overreacted. Earlier. It was unprofessional. I shouldn’t’ve touched you during the ritual.”

 

“Would it have been acceptable had I not been performing a ritual?” The question brushed against Obi-Wan, their lips grazing each other’s.

 

Feeling Anakin’s gaze, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Anakin was, suddenly, too easy to read, affection deep and poignant in his expression, in his chest. It was easy to discount the way his hands slid over his scales, held him, but this was less safe. He pursed his lips, then worried the bottom lip between his teeth. “My feelings are not professional, and I let them influence me too strongly.”

 

Obi-Wan smirked. “‘Not professional,’ you, Anakin, worried about professionalism and controlling your emotions. That’s unlike you.”

 

Anakin was undeterred. “I’m still in love with you, Obi-Wan.”

 

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched, cold spilling slowly through him beneath his scales. He pulled away from Anakin, swam back to his cot.

 

Anakin followed, sinking into his own bedding with unfamiliar and ironic composure. It stung as Anakin seemed simultaneously unbothered and unreachable, now. His voice was quiet, soft but resolute. “You deserve to know, and I can’t keep quiet anymore.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes stung as he lay on his back, staring at the tall ceiling.

 

~~~

 

The sun spilled gratefully through his chambers. He left his cot and attended to his morning cleaning quietly, then attended to routine meditation in the privacy of his innermost chambers. The darkness comforted him as he rubbed his hands over his freshly scrubbed arms.

 

The forced silence in his mind steadied him. He’d grown familiar with grounding himself in his own identity, separate from his brothers even as his existence followed the paths theirs no longer could, in mediation. There was no question that he could separate himself from Anakin, even here, even knowing the guard slept right outside.

 

He wondered if Anakin meditated, now. It was hardly a requirement for mers, though it was highly suggested and well-practiced. Anakin’s kin hadn’t shown him how before they passed, though he knew of it by the time he came to Obi-Wan, restless and annoyed by previous mers-turned-instructors.

 

Every mer ought to instruct others as easily as themselves; proper teaching was guiding and instruction, patience and growth. An exploration of self. Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d ever be a proper teacher, and he was right.

 

It was easy to fall in love with Anakin. Even at his worst, there was a truthfulness about him that left Obi-Wan captivated. It was beautiful, and Obi-Wan let himself get distracted, sloppy. It was too easy to see that Anakin would rather emulate Obi-Wan than be truthful to himself, and he chafed at the very rules and structures that gave Obi-Wan comfort, yet he clung to his student for too long, prolonging the inevitable in favor of gratifying Anakin’s desires.

 

It was for the best to send him away. Obi-Wan could teach him how to explore, how to adapt childhood magic lessons (Anakin’s being far different from Obi-Wan’s familiarity with ritual and religious magic) to any situation, how to grow and learn from other cultures without appropriation or disrespect. He could teach him which predators to avoid, how to adapt to different sea depths and temperatures, but he could not teach Anakin how to learn from himself. How to focus less on his love for Obi-Wan and more on his own development.

 

And now, Anakin tried to present him with love again.

 

Obi-Wan knew things couldn’t be like they were. He wouldn’t misread a confession for a request, throw himself at his guard mindlessly. It was selfish enough to consider a relationship with his guard, risking distraction and affection complicating his obligation to uphold his brothers’ responsibilities.

 

Yet Anakin continued to remind him that he was, at the end of it all, himself. The loss of his brothers could not result in the complete destruction of himself unless he wanted it to. He needed balance, guidance.

 

He needed to be away from Anakin, if only for a little while.

 

Obi-Wan cleared his thoughts once more, forcing himself to spend some fraction of time in as much silence as he could muster before exiting.

 

Anakin waited in the seating area. The rest of the guards were uncharacteristically absent.

 

“I want to be alone, only until sundown.”

 

Anakin looked away, the tips of his spikes rising from his scales in awkward bumps. “I’m supposed to watch over you.”

 

_You should’ve thought of that before you confessed. You’re reckless as always, I see._

The sensation of Anakin sighing through the bond was uncomfortable. _You deserved the truth._

_And now I’d like to think I deserved the space to process it._

“Where am I supposed to go, if I’m not guarding you today?”

 

“You’ll think of something.”

 

Anakin sighed again, this time out loud, and nodded. “Alright.” He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You’ve been. Projecting through the bond. Since last night.”

 

Obi-Wan’s throat clenched. Immediately, he closed himself off from Anakin. “I apologize for… that.”

 

“I know you didn’t mean to show me. I just… It was loud.”

 

Anything affectionate Obi-Wan might’ve felt vanished as Anakin touted his own self-control. As though Obi-Wan hadn’t had any, as though Obi-Wan ought to be grateful he kept his hands to himself.

 

He turned around and exited his chambers.

 

~~~

 

Experiencing expected sunlight without Anakin was pleasant. Experiencing unexpected absence, wherein Anakin needlessly secluded himself wasn’t any different, at first. Pleasant, but uneventful. Obi-Wan allowed himself to exist without the same awkward supervision.

 

Anakin’s makeshift replacement guard didn’t hover quite like Anakin did, didn’t watch over him with the same intensity, or as closely. He wondered whether, in another life, if he’d enjoy this impersonal work without Anakin.

 

Obi-Wan worked in thoughtless blur, grateful and restless simultaneously. After the sun set and the final ritual was complete, he swam quietly into his chambers and fell upon his cot in sleepless exhaustion.

 

Cautiously, he reached out over their silent bond. _Where are you?_

( _Are you alright,_ he considered asking, then left the urge hanging suspended, untouched.)

 

He fell asleep and woke alone, again. It became a befuddling routine for a small time, waking from sleep to find himself existing without companionship. Even when Anakin shared his space and routine, guarding him from shapeless threats, they maintained pockets of separate togetherness. They ate their own meals in shared settings, slept together, Obi-Wan fulfilling his ritualistic duties while Anakin fulfilled his own.

 

He missed the discomfort of sharing life with another mer, the way habits overlapped and communication grew mundane but quietly significant, canvassing the shapes of moments, the present and the future.

 

It was with a mixture of aggravation and worry that he allowed himself to reach out a second time.

 

_Are you alright?_

 

When nothing met his question, and the quiet kept stifling anything he might’ve sensed from Anakin, he turned over, faced Anakin’s empty cot. _I didn’t want this much space._

 

_Please come back._

 

~~~

 

Obi-Wan woke with a body resting beside his, barely touching. A very familiar body, one he hadn’t seen in too long.

 

“You were calling for me in your sleep,” Anakin explained before he could move, much less ask.

 

“I’m not calling for you now,” he replied as he moved away from Anakin’s presence. His eyes ached, and he wanted, more than anything, to lash out at Anakin. The fear of what might come held him silent.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“Giving you space, like you asked.”

 

Obi-Wan frowned. “Shirking responsibilities just to get back at me is childish, Anakin. I’m disappointed in you; I asked for space, not respite.”

 

He felt Anakin roll his eyes and braced himself. “I heard you calling for me,” Anakin said. “But there were raiders nearby, and I had to attend to them.”

 

“Were they the threat from before?”

 

Anakin didn’t respond, so Obi-Wan turned over. He probed the bond gently, but Anakin was projecting normal emotions. Muted aggression, sorrow, but nothing worrisome. Anakin’s expression was guarded, but Obi-Wan saw how he channeled his unruly emotions into maintaining a controlled appearance.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

 

Now, Anakin snarled. “They were planning on attacking you again during another ritual.”

 

“But they didn’t get me, did they? I’m here, Anakin. I’m right here.”

 

“I know that.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows twitched, but he only let himself hum in response. They both knew Anakin was comforted best by touch, and he knew full well how likely it was that he’d called for Anakin in his sleep. Anakin didn’t just take comfort in him without consent. “Have I called for you in my sleep before?”

 

Anakin looked as startled as Obi-Wan felt. “Through the bond?” At Obi-Wan’s slow nod, he swallowed. “When you seemed distressed, I offered comfort. You never called for me by my name.”

 

It was, perhaps, more embarrassing to know that Anakin fed Obi-Wan comfort he was too proud to seek in the daylight at night, begging silently from the one presence that could truly soothe him. Disgruntled, Obi-Wan turned to lay on his back. He could feel Anakin continue to stare at him, yet he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

 

_I’m sorry. I missed being near you, and the stress of my duties caused me to overstep._

_You say you love me, yet you communicate so little with me._

_You’ve only just tolerated me making small talk like this. How was I supposed to know you suddenly wanted updates on my life?_

He allowed a beat of silence after Anakin’s words, mustering his courage. Cautiously, he allowed Anakin to sense the full extent of his weariness, his discomfort and pain. _I asked for you, and you were not there. I asked, and you did not answer._

_I’m sorry._ Anakin’s honest regret seeped through the bond.

Obi-Wan huffed. _You can’t keep doing this to me. I’m exhausted. We can’t move forward if I can’t trust you to communicate._

_Alright, I’ll be better._

_Good._

There was another pause, during which Obi-Wan scolded himself for getting distracted. Anakin’s voice inside his head, thrumming gently in his chest, made it too easy to nearly forget himself. His own emotions coiled beside Anakin’s open presence through the bond; would he close himself off a second time? Deeply silencing the space between them, as he did during his period of mourning.

 

He knew, however, that Anakin skirted around an unspoken truth, one he must’ve sensed when Obi-Wan was vulnerable.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to consider how obvious he had been, all along. Skulking from Anakin’s presence, his touch, as though it would consume him.

 

Well. Anakin could know, but Obi-Wan would not allow a repeated love. The very thought had bile screaming through his throat. The same love throbbing between them like a poisoned tail, weakened scales, dealt them decaying sanity, and, perhaps the greatest evil, little individuality or growth.

 

“You’re doing it again,” Anakin commented aloud. “Calling for me.”

 

Obi-Wan faced him. “What does it sound like?”

 

“It’s soundless. You just… reach for me. It’s like a touch, but not quite. It’s just clear that you want me.”

 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and regretted everything in his life that led him to any amount of Anakin-related intimacy. “It’s not intentional.”

 

Anakin re-positioned himself so that he could face him more comfortably. “I’m well aware,” he replied. Something like bitterness settled between his eyes and in the plumpness of his lips. “You’ve been doing it since the beginning.”

 

Mortification bled through him. All those moments of quiet, private longing hadn’t gone unnoticed. He might as well have screamed himself hoarse at Anakin. Anakin, who had not once felt as though he were calling Obi-Wan, merely watching and protecting. “I haven’t sensed you reaching for me, not once.”

 

Anakin worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t know. I thought I was. You shut me out, though; I had no choice but to exist on my own.”

 

“It was easier to exist separately before,” Obi-Wan mused.

 

Anakin looked at him as though he stole the words from his head. Perhaps, he had. Everything was a blur between them. Despite himself, Obi-Wan was allowing the bond to heal, and he felt himself spreading out of his body, into Anakin’s.

 

Obi-Wan’s gaze focused again on Anakin, only to find that he had such a striking look of agony on his face that he nearly shuddered.

 

He wondered when things changed so much that Anakin’s sense of self was no longer a victim of their interactions, when Obi-Wan’s personhood became the thing he guarded most.

 

And yet, allowing himself to open further to the bond resulted in little erasure. Obi-Wan was Obi-Wan; Anakin was Anakin. The bond was just another space they could share, one which required interpretation and communication alike. It was something they both chose, and something they both would work on.

 

They stared at each other for several moments in quiet silence, no words spoken between them aloud or through their bond.

 

Obi-Wan carefully moved closer, so that he was eventually lying beside Anakin on his cot. He sensed that there was little holding Anakin back from touching him, save self-control and uncertainty. He rested his forehead underneath Anakin’s chin, one arm tucked between their chests, the other draping carefully over his side.

 

He felt Anakin tense and slowly relax as he seemed to realize that Obi-Wan was staying. Anakin’s presence spilled through the bond and into Obi-Wan, assessing his emotions. He tried his best to present Anakin with a tidy emotional state, but he knew it was next to impossible. He himself was feeling a mixture of things, each difficult to label, much less articulate.

 

Anakin gently removed himself from Obi-Wan, though after a sharp stab of something cold—loneliness, no doubt—felt by both of them, they each spilled across the bond. Anakin pulled Obi-Wan closer, until Obi-Wan felt pleasantly surrounded. Anakin held him close, and something sweet and sharp and aching swelled. Obi-Wan examined the sensation, instinctively knowing it wasn’t his own. It felt similar to his experiences with joy, and it was incredibly humbling, being able to experience and share Anakin’s emotions.

 

~~~

 

They did not speak directly about the change between them.

 

Obi-Wan didn’t think of it directly. It was natural to exist closer beside Anakin than it was before. Quite frankly, it was unlike anything he’d experienced previously. He took to watching Anakin instead of analyzing his own emotions.

 

He saw how Anakin awoke before the sunlight, quietly took stock of their surroundings and the day ahead while resting beside him. He saw how Anakin ate quietly but quickly, the way he took up physical space like a forceful apology. He felt Anakin’s quiet respect for and distance from the rituals he participated in, the soft awe towards Obi-Wan’s wild and joyful magic mixing with ancient practices and careful liturgy.

 

He found that Anakin’s worship of the Essence was distinctly different from Obi-Wan’s, less constant action and more constant awareness, the sharing of his emotions and presence with the Essence, practicing a somewhat unregulated mindfulness throughout their tasks.

 

Being able to feel and watch Anakin simultaneously was a beautiful gift. Some part of him grew aware of this over time since their first night of honesty, the first night where Anakin held Obi-Wan (and continued, afterwards, holding him through their shared sleep); however, it was only during his daily boulder-blessings that he thought it directly.

 

They were a strong pairing. Obi-Wan’s magic held a light and power it hadn’t previously, just enough that he noticed it. Sometimes, the magic surged through him like laughter, and the light lingered on his scales longer. The borders were blessed and protected more than ever before through his magic.

 

_Anakin is a gift,_ Obi-Wan thought towards the end of the ritual. His hands grazed the boulder’s surface with a care he hadn’t felt since the beginning of his new life. That care had been directed at himself, during a time where he felt himself achingly fragile. Now, it was an affection, a silent blessing.

 

Anakin swam closer, sensing the swell of emotion.

 

Obi-Wan turned slowly. He was suddenly aware that Anakin loved him, and that he loved him in return. He was also aware that, though Anakin must have felt this, neither spoke of it. Of Anakin’s feelings for him, nor of Obi-Wan’s for Anakin.

 

He made himself wait until the ritual was complete. Until the sunlight dwindled, and they were called back to their sleep chamber by routine. Until he was in Anakin’s arms again.

 

Pulling himself away, enough to make their eyes meet, he senses Anakin’s uncertainty, which had been present since they woke, growing steadily until it was nearly a physical entity.

 

_Hello, dear one,_ Obi-Wan murmured quietly through the bond.

 

Anakin was silent, but he leaned forward enough to brush his nose against Obi-Wan’s. Anakin kissed him fiercely, and the ocean grew silent around them. As they kissed, light spilled out of Obi-Wan’s scales, and Anakin’s scales soon mirrored his. It was difficult to tell whether Anakin’s scales reflected his light, held their own, or both, but it made Obi-Wan heady with possessive pride, and he held himself above Anakin, arms on either side of his body, their scales brushing against each other.

 

_Hello_.


End file.
